The Debt to Happiness
by TheLarkAscending82
Summary: A fateful call from her Father sees Phryne travelling home to England where painful revelations must be discovered. Jack, when faced with a long separation from her must make his own difficult choices.
1. Chapter 1

_So, here we go folks, my first chaptered fic. I have had this idea in my head for many months now but because I am the world's slowest writer and no matter how hard I try I cannot get my mind to function in a linear fashion, I wanted to get a few chapters written and outlined before the first posting. Then I realised how close we might be to actually seeing the third season so thought it a good idea to get a wriggle on and post at least the first chapter of it._

_I do not own anything. Miss Fisher is the artistic property of Kerry Greenwood, yada yada. If she were mine I am pretty sure I would be a hell of a lot richer for starters._

_Please let me know what you think and if it's worth carrying on with._

**The Debt to Happiness: Chapter One, Egg shells**

It was early; the low, orange sun streaming through the window suggested it was not yet six in the morning. Jack had been watching the shadows in his bedroom regress for some time. He convinced himself there wasn't any point in continuing to lie in bed. To eke out what little sleep was left to be had of the morning. Not when sleep would likely be fractured by the same, restless dreams that were currently filling his nights.

Last night's dream had him particularly unsettling; he'd dreamt a noose around her neck, the slack of the rope drawn taught by the pull of a gaoler's lever. He'd woken with a violent start, his hands grasping into thin air for the nonexistent rope in a futile attempt to release her from it. He'd spent the rest of the early hours trying to erase the dream from his mind and to calm his thundering pulse. He was thankful that sleep had evaded him for the remainder of the night.

At least during the day he had a better chance at attempting to curb his thoughts with well practised determination and in busying himself with the mundane tasks of daily life and of course his work. He was thankful for the summer heat, it had a tendency of exacerbating peoples criminal inclinations and brought with it a thankfully hectic working day. However, no amount of distraction during the day was enough when he was left alone with his thoughts in the night. No, his dreams were beyond his control.

With a resigned sweep of his arm, Jack threw the thin cotton sheets away from his body and swung his legs over the side of the bed onto the mercifully soft rug below. He took a deep drink from the glass of water on his bedside table to remove the taste of the sleep he did manage to get and returned it to the precariously full surface once more. He made a mental note to tidy away the unnecessary clutter from the table before work. The early hour lending itself to another productive morning before his shift began.

Rubbing his face with his hands, he tried to encourage into his body some kind of enthusiasm for the day ahead but found none. Instead, minutes later he caught himself, elbows on his knees, blindly staring at his clasped hands as if in a trance. So much for control, he inwardly chastised. It seemed the longer she was gone, the more his mind conjured her into being.

Thoughts of her were his constant companion, they entered his mind unannounced and without permission in just the same way she would have breezed into his office in the past. That was before the call nine months ago.

He physically shook his head of the thought; it was no use covering the same ground. Gripped by a determination, he pushed his hands down onto his knees to leverage his ascent from the bed; he rose to begin his day. Having discarded his pyjamas as a concession to the muggy heat of the previous night, he walked naked to his adjoining bathroom.

Returning from the bathroom after his morning ablutions and a quick shower there was a slight chill to the air; the oppressive, humid heat of the previous days had been broken by an almighty rain storm in the early hours of the morning which had cleared away the heavy, humid air that seemed to be hanging over the city for the past few weeks and replaced it with an unseasonal chill.

But for the damp towel slung over his hips, he made no further modification to his state of undress and gave little mind to the fact that he had left his curtains undrawn to allow the air to circulate through the room, and anyone looking through the window would have a rude awakening. Unconcerned, he strode over to a chest of drawers near the window to retrieve a fresh pair of undershorts and vest donning them with swift efficiency and then stepping into his suit trousers. He felt the loose braces tap against his legs as he crossed the room towards his bed once more.

Retrieving his watch from the bedside table, he let his eyes fall on the objects layering its surface, mentally sorting through what should be tidied away. He had several of his favourite books stacked about five deep; paperwork from his most recent cases for those nights when sleep evaded him and a near empty bottle of scotch for those nights when sleep had come but it had come with nightmares.

As they usually did, his eyes fell on a delicate egg shell resting on a piece of parchment inside a matchbox. It was a memento from another life, a life so fleetingly a part of his own. That little eggshell of the faintest blue, the very sight of it brought with it the smell of elderflowers, the feel of cool water between his toes and sun warmed hair against his fingers. How was it possible for his heart to pitch and soar within the same beat? Why had he kept it if it brought him such exquisite pain? It would do him no good to leave it there as a reminder. He knew he would never have it within him to remove it.

He'd absently began buckling his watch to his wrist when the sound of a car door shutting on the street below met his ears and forced him to break from the reverie. Though the sound was not unusual in itself, it was still very early. Out of ingrained curiosity, Jack made his way across the room to the window, picking up his shirt as he went.

He didn't see any movement on the street below him, so he raised his eyes instead to the horizon to hazard a guess at what the weather would bring for the day ahead. He took in the sky and realised that the sun would be short lived, there were dense, dark clouds in the horizon and the wind was beginning the chase the debris from last night's storm across the street below. He was about to turn his attentions back to dressing when his eye was caught by something familiar. A little way down the opposite side of the street he saw it; her motor vehicle.

He wrenched the window open as far as it would go to better see the street below, his eyes focused on the driver's side of the familiar red car to see if he could see its occupant but he saw nothing. He scanned the road frantically. _Please, please, _he thought, _let it be her. _But there was still no sign of life. He leaned further out of the window grasping onto the frame for leverage until he could see the steps running up to his front door directly below him. He leant a little further until he finally saw what he had been waiting these many months for. She was there; right there. Her shiny cap of black hair, although longer than when they had last met was unmistakably hers. He felt his heart beat sway his body slightly at the sheer force of it; his body rebelling against the rush of adrenaline so early in the morning.

He watched from above as she lifted her hand to knock on the surface of the door. He waited for the anticipated sound to rise up and meet his ears. He waited, and he waited, but it did not come, she did not knock.


	2. Chapter 2 Solid Ground

_First of all I would like to say a big thank you to all of you who left me with a review. I'm always very apprehensive whenever I post anything new and am always surprised by the lovely feedback. Thanks guys . As always, let me know what you think. Concrit is greatly appreciated._

The Debt to Happiness

Chapter Two: Solid ground

The return voyage from England had finally come to an end in the dark, early hours of the morning. The _Orient Sister _had docked amidst a terrific downpour after five weeks at sea. Mac, God bless her, umbrella in hand, was there to meet her once more.

There were no jibes about travelling light this time. Mac's eyes flicked almost imperceptibly to the stranger on Phryne's arm, her eyes filled with surprise and concern when once again they met with her friend's who, she noticed, had been watching for her reaction.

Mac extended them a polite salutation.

"Please, don't ask," Phryne pleaded, "not yet anyway." she finished.

Phryne got her answer in the wordless, tight embrace as she was enveloped into Mac's arms.

"There's no hurry, whenever you're ready," Mac said softly in her ear as she began to pull away, placing a kiss on her cheek. She held her friend at arm's length as if to take a good look at her. Apart from the longer length of her friend's hair she was the same beautiful Phryne, on the outside anyway, "Welcome home, Darling. God, it's good to see you," she said with a final squeeze to Phryne's upper arms.

"Come on, let's get you home," Mac said as she took her friends free hand and led her to the taxi cab. "Bert and Cec are waiting in the car to drive you home."

They bundled into the back seats of the loitering vehicle, its windows slightly ajar, as much as the weather would allow for, she noticed they were slightly misted from the bodies of the waiting inhabitants.

"Welcome home, Miss!"

Phryne looked towards the driving seat for the welcoming voice, finding Cec sitting with his body twisted as he looked towards his passengers in the back of the car. He wore his usual good natured smile as he tipped his head to her and gave her a look that Phryne couldn't quite place. What was it? Was it Pity? Sympathy? She really couldn't be sure, she just knew that she didn't want it, whatever _it_ was; she just wanted to be home. His face was so earnest though, she couldn't find it in her to be annoyed.

Reticent to a fault, Bert, in the adjacent seat, simply doffed his cap by way of a welcome, and spoke a gruff, "Miss."

She nodded a reply to the welcome and tried for her most convincing smile for the two cabbies. She _was_ grateful; neither of them had to be here at this ungodly hour and she told them so.

"No worries, Miss. Just pleased to have you back," Cec said, "We all are."

The two men shared a tacit exchange before Bert spoke, "Righto, I'll check in with you as soon as – "

With no more explanation and to no one in particular he moved to exit the car and enter into the persistent rain storm. Phryne got the impression he had never been so keen to leave his precious taxi cab. She couldn't blame him; the thought had crossed her mind too.

Cec manoeuvred himself to face forward in the driver's seat and turned the key in the ignition, speaking over his shoulder, "Bert's gonna stay here a bit and get the rest of your things from the cargo hold, Miss. He'll drive the Hispano back to yours, shouldn't be more than a jiffy." He said as he turned the car engine over to start it, the vehicle responded with an efficient jolt into action, "Well then ladies, let's go," he said to her reflection in the rear view mirror, pleased to be given something useful to do.

As they pulled away from the docks, Phryne felt her travel companion lean into her side with the movement of the vehicle; she looked over to see that they had begun to drift off, their body becoming slack and heavy with sleep. "Yes, let's go," she said, somewhat belatedly in the direction of the sleeping figure. She couldn't blame them really; she herself was as close to physical exhaustion as she could ever remember being - Since the war anyway. It was the type of exhaustion that came with a long journey, though not in itself a physically exerting thing, however, the miles bourn by the vessel had never the less taken their toll on her and that was to say nothing of the trial of the last few months.

She felt a squeeze to her hand, Mac, crossing her arm over the sleeping stranger sought to bring Phryne back from whatever reverie she had entered. "I telephoned home as soon as we saw your ship arriving, Dot will be fussing about getting everything ready for you right about now. She's been beside herself with worry. We all have." Remembering her earlier promise, not to have her friend explain anything, she added, "They've all been so excited this last week to know you were on your way. I swear I think I even saw your Aunt Prudence do a little skip and a jig down the hallway when I told her."

Phryne couldn't help but smile, even though she knew it not to be true. The image of Aunt P doing anything even remotely animated tickled her.

"I hope you had your smelling salts to hand," she said, appreciative of the lightening mood only to feel it crash once more as she thought of the difficult conversations ahead. "How much does she know?" Phryne asked, watching the rain drops chase down the car window as if trying to feign disinterest in the answer.

Mac briefly exchanged a look with Cec as she caught his eyes reflected in the mirror before looking to her friend, "Only what's made it into the papers, darling," with another reassuring squeeze to her hand, "And everybody knows – how does the saying go? – a lie can travel around the world before the truth has put its socks on."

Phryne nodded wordlessly as she pulled her eyes away from the dark night outside the car window to look at her friend.

"It's so good to see you," Mac repeated.

"It's good to be seen," Phryne answered. She continued cautiously, "Have you seen him? How is he?" she felt herself hold her breath for the answer.

Mac didn't need to ask who _he _was. She took a courteous look at her still sleeping companion and ventured the only answer she could give. The truth. "He's a shadow, Phryne," she whispered, "He had me in the station a couple of weeks back for that, Elsie Tizzard woman – don't worry – she's alright," she reassured at Phryne's worried look, "Nothing that a few weeks off the grog and a decent three meals a day wouldn't fix anyway." Mac diagnosed.

"He asked me how you were. When – _if – y_ou'd be coming back. And, Phryne, it was like I kicked the man in the guts when I said I didn't know. Darling, I haven't seen a man that broken since the war."

That got her attention, _good_, thought Mac, she was afraid she was going to have to shake the woman. "He's a good man, Phryne. Let him make up his own mind." She said quietly, "Though I have a feeling it's already made. I think you do too."

No more was said. No more needed to be said.

The car slowed to take the familiar corner at St Kilda, Phryne saw her home in the near distance; the only house on the road with its lights shining from the windows on the otherwise sleeping street. She likened it to a lighthouse, a place of calm and safety after a long treacherous journey. She could feel the warmth welcoming her as they made their approach and she saw the unmistakable silhouette of Dot standing in the well lit porch awaiting their arrival.

It hit her then that some kind of end had been reached. A line had been drawn under something to bring it to its close. Life afloat and contained in that comparatively small space was over, now there was nothing left but to have it unleashed to the outside world. This delicate new beginning was to be undertaken and under the observation of many eyes. It was a journey she had no road map for and she was terrified.

This thought and Mac's words summoned in her a renewed desire to do what needed to be done, and soon.

She could still feel the sway of the boat; her body not yet accustomed to the unyielding solid ground on which she now stood. She'd barely been back in the country four hours and yet here she was, standing at his front door like a fool, it was barely even dawn. She thought she'd been so eager to be back in her own home again, to finally settle and have her own things about her, her friends, loyal and loving. Yet no sooner had she arrived, she felt the pull to be elsewhere. The pull had led her here.

And so it was that she found herself standing at his front door, her hand poised midair ready to knock on the last solid barrier between the two of them. Like a marionette doll she was manipulated by some unseen force; she stood, her hand, fisted and hovering seemingly unable to make that final movement, that simple action that would bring him to her once more. Thousands of miles had been crossed to be here but it seemed the last few steps would be the ones to cause her fall.

It had been foolish to come, she knew that. She'd promised herself that she would leave him be. She had been the one to push him away after all; to convince him that his happiness lay in the reconciliation with his former wife and that the renewed uncomplicated commitment he would get from her would be the best thing for him. He deserved to be happy.

They'd left things in such a complicated, awful mess though and she wanted so badly to see him, she _needed_ to see him. To know that he did not think ill of her and to tell him that she didn't blame him for the difficult choices he'd made the last time they'd spoken. How could she, she'd practically made them for him.

Her thoughts once again warred within her. Placing her palm silently on the hard cool surface of the door, her decision seemed remade. It wasn't fair on him.

There were still so many things she needed to work through; to set to rights in her own mind before she sought his counsel, however much she physically ached to see him, to touch him, to merely speak with him. But she needed to reconcile herself with the person she was now to the person he'd left behind, at her bidding, many months ago.

There were responsibilities; responsibilities that were her own and not his. Not least to person she'd left asleep in her bed to come here. She couldn't be too long; she would be missed.

With a frustration that coalesced into a physical pressure on her chest she let out a strained cry. Pushing herself away with the hand that had been resting on his door, she ran down the steps and back across the street to her car. She waited only a moment to clasp the steering wheel hard in both hands, the pressure of it turning her knuckles white, so tight she felt sure she would bend the wheel out of shape.

She started the engine and drove at speed down to the junction at the end of the street, stopping for a moment to get her bearings. She suddenly felt an overwhelming keenness to be clean; to wash away the feeling of blood on her hands. Turning left would take her home, to the lighthouse, warm, safe and welcoming and filled with concerned eyes. Turning right would lead her to the sea, to the cold turbulent, cleansing waves and the boss of nature.

His bare feet impacted painfully with the coarse road as he chased after her. She hadn't seen him. _Christ, _she couldn't see him. He ran like a man possessed and he supposed he was, but no matter the urgency in his actions, the ground seemed to expanded between them, if he hadn't been so certain he was awake he could have been convinced he was dreaming. She wouldn't be caught, she turned right out of the street and out of view.


	3. Chapter 3: The Call

_And so, let us start with the beginning._

**Chapter Three: The call**.

**Nine months previously**.

The first call had been allowed to ring off. Even Mr Butler and his usual eerily precise pre-preparedness had not been sufficient enough for him to make it down the stairs in time to lift the telephone from its cradle.

There was no answer to be had at number 221b, The Esplanade and the call terminated; the caller left wanting in their chore to impart scandal on the sleeping household - for now.

Phryne, waking with the shrill noise as it broke through the peaceful, sleeping silence of the house, had donned her black silk robe on her way down the stairs. Seeing her butler standing by the bottom step about to ascend, she'd enquired who it was on the telephone when it began to ring again. Realising her butler had not managed to answer the call already; Phryne hastened her path down the stairs.

"It's alright, Mr B! You go back to bed. It's likely for me at this hour." She gave the butler a saucy wink. "It's probably, Mary begging for a reprieve from Aunt P." She joked, with a tired smile.

It had been the first night Mary and her new son, Patrick had been absent from the house. After a weeklong stay at the Fisher household to ensure her recuperation, it was decided she would make the move to Aunt Prudence's residence, where she would continue her convalescence before eventually undertaking her new role as assistant cook. Phryne had no doubt the old woman could manage very well without the new addition - _additions – _she corrected herself_, _and that the job had been plucked from thin air but she was grateful to her aunt who constantly surprised her with her seemingly uncharacteristic – however, more so recently - characteristic kindnesses.

That being said, she could still quite happily strangle her aunt for her interruption the other evening. She had rendered, Jack's tentative but perspicuous visit in the late hours concluded with one disapproving glance. Both parties acquiesced in the knowledge that there would be time enough to continue the dance.

As she made her way to the telephone she hoped the call this evening was that continuation.

"Very well, Miss," Mr. Butler replied but made no move to climb the stairs, he simply stood back from the telephone to allow his mistress to answer the call. He would stay a short while; at least to ensure nothing further was needed before he retired again for the evening. From his vantage point he saw young Dorothy appear at the top of the landing, with no doubt the same intention in mind.

Phryne reached the telephone and lifted the receiver to her ear as she took her place on the chair beside it.

"Hello, this is Phryne Fisher." She could hear the residue of sleep on her own voice but there was no answer on the other end of the line, only the loud hiss of static. "Hello, is there anybody there?" No answer.

"Hello... who's calling please?" She repeated, impatience tainting her voice. She would give them one last chance to answer and then end the call. She hoped for a reply, if only to be given the opportunity to berate the caller for the unsociable hour of the call.

"Phryne?... Phryne Doll, is that you?"

Her posture tensed. There was only one person in the world who called her that and he only used that particular term of endearment when he wanted something from her.

"Father? Is that you?" She didn't need to ask, but she did need to buy time to think of a tactic for the call; whatever it might entail.

"Oh, Doll, thank Christ I've got through to you," Came the all too familiar gravelly voice; its accent still heavy with the unrefined lilt of Collingwood. It turned out money just couldn't change some things.

"You took your time answering." He proclaimed.

Wrong footed, she looked at the clock on the wall for ammunition to fire back at him.

"Father, it's gone three-thirty in the morning over here, the household was asleep. If you want a reasonable response time you should call at a reasonable hour. "

Why was it always the same? They had barely said two words to one another and already there was an argument brewing.

"Go easy on me, Doll. I don't want to fight!" _Well that's a first_, she thought but managed to withhold.

"What is it Father? It's very late!"

"Phryne, I've...I don't know how to say this... Doll, it's your mum..."

She waited expectantly for the rest of what he had to say but nothing followed.

"What's happened, Dad?" She said impatiently, trying desperately to keep a lid on the annoyed tone she could hear creeping into her voice. The last thing she wanted was to be dragged in to one of their arguments at this hour; a sharp mind was needed when doing battle with her father.

"She's gone, Phryne." The hiss of the line was all that was heard by both parties for a time before he realised he needed to reiterate, "She's dead, Phryne."

"Oh!" The exclamation came from Phryne's lips on the breath that felt like it had been physically knocked from her.

'"Oh"' is that all you've got to say? Christ! Did you hear what I said, Phryne? Your mum's dead!"

"No, sorry Dad, I think...I wasn't expecting...Oh God!"

She heard the clinking of glass in the parlour and moments later a tumbler of whiskey was set down on the small table in front of her. She'd forgotten Mr Butler was still there. He again stepped back to allow her privacy and made his way to the kitchen catching the eye of Dorothy on his way and wordlessly expressing to her that her mistress was in need of her. Dot was already on her way down the stairs.

"How, Dad? How did it happen?" She finally managed.

"That's just it, Phryne. They think I had something to do with it."

Phryne froze and felt a knot of fear curl and tighten in the pit of her stomach.

She steeled herself, "Did you?" She managed to rasp out.

It pained her to realise the question needed asking. If she was having this awful conversation with anyone else in her acquaintance, she would not have had to ask, she would just have known, but her own father, she realised with some regret, was not one of those people.

"Jesus Christ, Phryne. How can you even ask me that? I loved your mother!" She could hear the shock in his voice.

"You didn't answer my question." She said with more self-possession than she felt," Did you have anything to do with it?" Unflinching. She needed to know the truth.

"No. I did not!" He said forcefully, placing great emphasis on all four words. He sounded in equal parts, angry and distressed at having his daughter ask such a question. Phryne wanted so badly to believe him.

"I loved your mother!" He reiterated hoarsely in a resigned proclamation.

Phryne did not doubt his last statement; there was no such question in her mind that this philandering, boisterous man, loved – had loved - her mother but this was a man who often times had a funny way of showing that love. This was a man who was a fucking mean drunk.

She leant her heavy head into her palm and tentatively allowed relief to dilute itself with the grief she had yet to fathom.

"Then what happened dad? How? When?"

"I don't know, Phryne. She must have fallen over the upper floor banister, I found her at the bottom...you know...in the marble entrance hall. This morning – "

"Fell? She fell over the banister?" She said, disbelieving once more.

"Well, it's that or... Listen, we'd both had a skinful that night and we'd had an argument but you know us, Doll we were always at it, didn't mean anything though." He said, the words spilling from him in a rush.

"And, well, the coppers, they've put two and two together and come up with bloody five." He added.

"The police found marks on her didn't they?" It was a rhetorical question, she already knew the answer if the police were involved.

"Well, yeah! But Phryne, I never hit her...just held her arm a bit tight is all...She was going at me like a crazy woman and I was holding her off. You should see my eye, she got a couple of gooduns' in." He almost sounded proud of the fact. Phryne couldn't tell if it was pride in his wife's fire, or pride that he had managed to refrain from striking her.

"The coppers have only just left. They say they're going to send some inspector round tomorrow to ask more questions. I've told them all I know. The bastard'll probably be snooping round all day like the last lot." He said indignantly before continuing with the next blow. "Anyway, Doll, you've got to come home.

"Wait a minute, dad - I'm not coming _home_." She hadn't thought it possible for the call to get any worse. Her father was always willing to prove her wrong. "It would take weeks, dad. I couldn't possibly be there for the funeral; I don't see that it would do any good. No, I'm sorry but I'm not coming."

"Please Phryne. Please, I need you here!" was all he managed to say before she heard a sob at the end of the line.

She'd seen her father cry only once before in her life. That was two days after she'd lost Janey; when it became all too clear her sister was not simply just lost, but that some unknown evil had taken place and she was gone from them forever. He had sobbed like a child that day and afterwards, as if to make up for the emasculating act, he had let loose an angry rampage in their cramped quarters. She'd had to be swift on her feet that day.

"Look Dad. I'm sorry, I really am but I can't just up and leave. Anyway, it takes over a month at the very least..." She heard herself excusing as the sound of her father's soft cries came through the line leaning heavily on her tenuous resolve.

"Phryne... what am I going to do without her?" He made such a mournful sound, it weighed so heavily on her it broke the last of her will.

"Alright...alright, I'll see what I can do." She deflated physically at her own words, only fully realising the magnitude of them after they had been spoken. When there was no way to swallow them back down unsaid.

He continued to cry down the telephone and Phryne half thought that perhaps he hadn't heard her. She saw a little chink of light in the dark. Perhaps there was still a way out of this. But no, his words, when they came confirmed all too well that he had heard her.

"Doll," he sniffed loudly, "you're a good girl!" She heard him swipe his hand over his moist face. "It'll be real nice to have you home." _It's not my home, _the child in her wanted to scream back at him.

"But Father, I _will _be returning back home, _here," _she emphasised, "I'll not be staying indefinitely!" She needed him to be absolutely clear on that.

"Oh, we can discuss all of that when you get here, Phryne Doll. Please, Doll, please hurry. Let me know when you're setting off won't you? And when to expect you." He said in a rush as if he knew just how close the possibility was that she would change her mind at any moment. With the purpose of ending the call for that very reason, he hastily expressed goodbyes and did just that.

Phryne came back to herself with a warm squeeze to her shoulder and the telephone being released from her tight grip. Dear Dot, she hadn't even seen her come down the stairs.

"I'm sorry, Miss Phryne" she said as she reached over her to replace the telephone receiver.

Unable to respond, Phryne was seemingly entranced by the white pads of her fingers as they pressed the outside of the medicinal glass of whiskey in her hand. It was muscle memory more than any conscious act that saw her raise the glass to her mouth and down the draught in one. The burning in her throat brought her back to some semblance of coherence. The chaotic thoughts that had been somersaulting in her mind finally falling into place as she realised exactly what she had just agreed to.

She cursed like the grubby Collingwood girl she had once been.

"Sorry Dot!" she apologised for the outburst. If Dot had been offended by the expletives, she didn't show it.

"Of course Miss. It's alright. You've had a terrible shock." Dot placed her hand once again on Phryne's shoulder, not quite sure of what to do for her mistress.

"You'll need me to pack Miss?"

"Yes, Dot. It looks like it," She replied as Mr Butler appeared once more from the hallway to add his voice to the support.

"I'll make the travel arrangements for you, Miss, at first opening this morning." He said. He seemed tentative for a moment but then continued, "How many tickets, Miss would you like me to book passage for?" He knew very well that his services would not be needed where she was going; the staff at her father's estate were no doubt sufficient but young Dorothy was another matter. This would be an unparalleled disruption to the young lady's engagement in every sense of the word. But the decision was taken from his employer.

"Please book passage for two, Mr Butler" Dot requested assertively. Her mistress needed her and she wasn't about to leave her to make this difficult journey and its destination on her own.

"If that's alright with you, Miss Phryne?" she added, suddenly somewhat taken aback by her own assuredness.

She received her answer and was comforted by it when her hand was grasped wordlessly to have it pressed against her mistress's cheek before a kiss was placed on it.

"Right then, that's settled." Dot's traitorous voice giving away the sadness she felt for her mistress, but adding, "Now, everyone back to bed, we'll have a busy day tomorrow." As she shepherded her Miss Phryne back up to bed.

Phryne lay awake for the rest of the evening. She mentally planned what needed to be done in the day ahead. She needed to see Aunt Prudence; she knew her father would not have given her aunt a second thought in all of this and Phryne knew that she would have to be the one to tell her of her sister's death. That task alone was enough to make sleep a virtual impossibility.

There were so many loose ends to be tied, so much to be organised before her departure. And then of course there was Jack. Their little dance had gotten closer and more intimate in its setting these past months, the tiniest of steps now needed to make the biggest stride of all. There had always been the time, or so she had thought. The time to tease, to pull in and then draw back when it all became too consequential. Too much like love.

The war and the harsh lessons learned about the brevity of life had shaped her; life was too short to be tide down and to be taken too seriously, she'd learned that the hard way. Yet the consequences of yet another untimely death, her own mother, signalled perhaps the ending of an opportunity, an opportunity to experience something of life that was not entirely new to her but something she always knew she never wanted again after, Rene.

The self imposed line she'd drawn so arrow straight ten years ago, or, if she was honest, as soon as she had been old enough to contemplate her parents fractured relationship outside the confines of a child, were being tiptoed over. The lines blurred and smudged as she and Jack waltzed back and forth over them.

The irony of the situation was not lost on Phryne and it stung. The scenarios she'd begun giving head space to, so in keeping with the world around her, but so abrasive to her own ideals began creeping under her skin and spreading like a bruise, tender to the touch for a while but ultimately fading.

And so she mourned; she mourned her mother with a grief not yet fully absolute, for it could not be complete until her mind could fathom what had just been lost to her.

And she began to miss the man she had not yet left behind. Tomorrow would be that day and with an invading sense of what felt like panic, she finally allowed herself to cry.


	4. Chapter 4: Kiss Me Hard Before You Go

_Again, thank you everyone for your kind reviews and your patience. I had intended to try to post a chapter a week but with work and time constraints that hasn't always been possible and i've run a little over. _

_Anyway thank you for bearing with me and I hope you enjoy._

**Chapter: Kiss me hard before you go**

It had been little more than fourteen hours since the call from her father when Phryne and Dot walked into the station at City South. They entered the station like so many times before, only this time everyone knew it to be different. Today, Jack noticed her move about the place differently, almost reverently; slowly, as if taking it in. She ushered Dot in front of her and upon meeting Jack's eyes as he stood by the front desk with Hugh behind it, she felt the unprecedented need to explain why she was there.

"I've brought Dot to say goodbye to Hugh!" She announced, as if the room wasn't already fully aware of the circumstances.

"Yes, of course," Jack nodded, "Take the first interview room, Collins." He said, turning his head slightly in the direction of his constable while issuing the instruction, though his eyes remained firmly on Phryne.

Hugh, coming from behind the desk, ushered his sweetheart the short distance up the hall and into the adjoining room, leaving the door slightly ajar. He knew his beloved well; even the prospect of a prolonged separation and their renewed engagement would not allow for their farewells to take place behind completely closed doors.

Phryne's eyes followed the two sweethearts, Jack's did not.

"Poor, Hugh! I'm taking her away from him so suddenly. He's going to be like a lost puppy."

In the absence of any response she looked away from the interview room door where the young couple had just disappeared and looked finally to the man she was to farewell. She was met by his intense gaze.

"I hope you'll look after him. He's going to be even more flustered than usual." She continued, "Don't put him in charge of any heavy machinery, he'll do himself a mischief." She said, attempting jollity, it sounded false even to her own ears.

Still there was no response, only his fixed gaze directed unerringly at her. She felt suddenly self conscious, a feeling that did not sit well with her. Phryne Fisher did not _do_ self conscious. Or fearful, when she realised she was afraid, afraid she might leave this place having not spoken with him; she might not hear his voice. Bloody man! She was suddenly inexplicably annoyed at him; that he had made her feel this way, how dare he.

"Say something," She demanded. She hadn't meant it to sound quite so forceful. Or desperate.

Jack became suddenly aware of himself. Her stern delivery transcending the stupor he'd found himself in since Hugh had received the call from Miss Williams earlier this morning. The news, in turn, relayed to him by a doleful, Collins.

The current situation, he knew, necessitated dialogue and standing mute while he committed to memory the detail of her face in the fading light of the afternoon through the dirty windows of City South, was not conducive to the act of saying goodbye. But now she was here she felt suddenly so far away, her very presence making her imminent departure all the more real. He pushed himself to speak.

"Are you alright?" He finally asked, his voice rough as if out of practice, perhaps it was, he couldn't remember a single other conversation he'd had today.

It was the only question he gave a damn about. If she was to leave shortly he needed to know she was going to be alright.

"Of course," she replied, a little more brightly than was necessary, in that way he noticed she had of affecting her voice when she was trying to convince herself and others of it. He wondered if she knew that was her tell.

For emphasis, as though she knew she had just been caught out in a lie, she nodded a further, silent deception in the direction of her shoes. Her hands clutched together in front of her.

"I'm sorry, Phryne! About your mum."

"Thank you!" She didn't know what else to say. She suspected Jack didn't either. She'd always found it a strange custom; saying sorry in circumstances like this, though she had used the placatory expression often enough during the war. Too often.

She wanted to change the subject. She _needed_ to change the subject, or the painful lump in her throat would find its release in the threatening tears that were ready to fall unchecked. Making an attempt at her usual sass, she sought to retrieve the situation from the brink.

"I am sorry to be leaving you when we still have the Sanderson case up in the air. I know how heavily you rely on my input these days. However will you manage without me?" She joked, knowing full well he would see straight through her jibe but hoping all the same he would follow her lead and play along. He did not disappoint her in his riposte.

"Oh I'm sure we'll muddle through without you, Miss Fisher," he leant back against the front desk behind him, crossing one ankle over the other, "There'll be fewer breaches of the peace to investigate while you're out of town at least." He answered with a wry smile.

He took her previous comments for what they were and allowed her to steer the conversation away from the personal; it would find its way back around in the end no doubt. Besides he wanted her to be as up to date as possible before she left, after all, it was as much her case as his, even if certain members of the constabulary would never admit to it. He also knew that what he had to say next would not go down well with her.

"Actually, there are stirrings at the top – the _new _top – that the remainder of the investigation will be undertaken by another force."

"No!" She said, surprised. The purpose for the visit suddenly, blessedly forgotten; momentarily overridden by a new concern. "They can't do that surely?"

"They can and they likely will. Word is they want a completely unrelated – _unrelated _being the operative word here– team. They want to nail Sanderson and Fletcher, make an example of them and the former son in law of one of the suspects is not who they have in mind to lead the charge."

"But they can't possibly think you would be in any way bias," Phryne challenged, her arms outstretched, "You made the damned arrests for heaven sake's." She finished, dropping her arms to her sides in frustration. "Oh, Jack, I'm sorry! This really isn't fair!"

He was touched by her adamants that he was the right man for the job

"It's not set in stone but I think it's coming, and soon. To be honest, I can see where they're coming from," adding hastily to his remark when her saw her surprised reaction, "I don't like it, but I can understand it. They don't want the case to be affected or compromised in any way and that means taking out the familial link, and in this case, that's me." He said with a grudging acceptance of his lot before continuing to reassure her further.

"Listen, if I thought that this was being done in any way to aid a cover up I would be fighting tooth and nail to remain on the case but as it is, the new Chief of Police, Richard Farmer is his name, he's a good bloke and a good cop to go with it. He came down to the station yesterday to tell me himself; kept me in the loop. They simply want the strongest possible case to eventually take to court and..." He shrugged, as though resigned, "those girls deserve the strongest case we – _they – _can build." He corrected himself.

"And you trust him? This...Richard Farmer?" She asked, hating the thought of Jack not seeing this case through to the end. One of the reasons she had eventually relented in her decision to travel and see her father had been the knowledge that Jack would be here, leading the investigation into Sanderson and Fletcher. She trusted him to do what needed to be done.

"Yes, I do." He answered in the affirmative, "He's straight as a line. He's a family man; he's got three girls of his own. He'll do a good job."

She thought about it only momentarily, "Then if you trust him, I trust him!" she continued, "Keep me updated won't you? As best you can anyway. Please?"

"I will."

They held each other's gaze for long moments, suddenly with nothing to say, all the while there still being so much left to be said.

"And, Rosie?" she asked, the words falling from her mouth in a rush, "How is she bearing up?"

Phryne couldn't deny her curiosity the question. If she was entirely honest with herself she had given the woman far more thought than was strictly necessary over the last few hours. She was genuinely concerned for her, of course she was. Yes, she knew what it was to have ones parents cast shadows. But she was also curious as to the changing dynamic of the situation they suddenly found themselves in. What would alter and comprise when you took out one of the elements and moved it thousands of miles away. Whatever it was between her and Jack, it _was_ something, and she could not deny that. Still, if her life depended on it, she couldn't quite name it.

Jack was somewhat taken aback by her unexpected change of topic. He paused for thought before he answered, choosing his words carefully.

"She's bearing up." He paused again, hesitating. He decided honesty where Phryne Fisher was involved was the best policy.

"I'll be seeing her later this evening. She'll be coming in for questioning, just a few routine enquiries about how much, if anything, she knew about her father's and fiancé's... dealings." He finished and cleared his throat.

"Oh! ...And they're letting _you_ do that? I would have thought – "

"No. No, you see there's the rub in the investigation. I can't really be the one to interview my wife – my _former_ wife – about all of this. It's the sort of thing that could be construed by a clever lawyer into getting the case thrown out. No, I'll be there outside the capacity of the police...after the interview."

"Oh, well yes, I see. Of course, that makes sense. You must be there for her."

He noticed the slight hesitation in her advocacy of his supporting Rosie and was reminded once more of the subterfuge she was so capable of assuming when she was cornered. The air of nonchalance was always within her grasp.

Phryne nodded her understanding; she wondered if he noticed the wave of, what? What was it? Jealousy, she supposed. She wasn't fool enough to think it could be anything else. Still, she reasoned internally, he wouldn't be the Jack Robinson she would miss if he didn't support Rosie the way she knew he would.

She recovered herself quickly, "Though why she must be interviewed in the first place is beyond me. It is entirely too obvious she knew nothing of their goings on, given her reaction that night, when you... you know – "

"Yes, I agree but we must be seen to be doing everything by the book and unfortunately that means Rosie will have to be interviewed."

"Quite." She nodded faintly.

Jack didn't want to talk about Rosie anymore. As it was, he thought it a bad idea to meet again with her after the interview tonight. He'd agreed to it out of loyalty and more than a little sympathy. Yes, he cared for her, he always would and he wanted to be a supportive friend to Rosie, but the inkling of hopeful reconciliation he thought he'd seen in her eyes and actions when last they spoke had not been lost on him. He didn't want to encourage that hope in her. He was sure it wasn't hubris on his part, he wasn't imagining it surely. He remembered her gaze, her touch, from many years ago now, from a time when she had still behaved as though she wanted him; that she hadn't given up on the man she knew he was before the war, that the spark in him only needed a little kindling. He remembers a time when he would have taken great solace in those looks, looks that made him believe she was waiting for him to make his way through the mire of his internal war and back to her, but her patience could only be stretched so far and he couldn't blame her in the end for seeking her own solace elsewhere.

But he knew he'd be damned if he were to walk backwards into a relationship that would no doubt take him from the burgeoning...friendship? With Miss Fisher – Phryne. Even if they remained as purely friends, and he knew this was a distinct possibility, he knew he could no longer fool himself that he was strong enough to give that – _her_ – up. He also knew that it would be demanded of him if he were to reconcile with Rosie.

"I wish you could come." Her words met his ears through the din of his own troubled thoughts. They were spoken so quietly he could almost believe he'd imagined them through his own fancy to hear them. Except he hadn't, he knew this when he saw her face. Written on her beautiful features was the cost of her proclamation. Phryne Fisher did not want or need for anything or anyone and yet she had essentially spoken her desires before they'd had a chance to be censured.

"Phryne – "

The horn of the waiting cab outside suddenly ripped through the quiet of the station in three long bursts of sound. The cabs occupants were no doubt concerned by the growing lateness of the hour and the imminent departure of the vessel that already carried Miss Fisher's car and belongings in its cargo hold.

The offensive sound, having travelled efficiently through the station, brought Dot and a sorrowful looking Hugh from their sanctuary.

"Are you ready, Miss?" Dot ventured as she dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief as they stepped into the front of the station once more.

"As I'll ever be, Dot." She said giving a sympathetic smile and nod to Hugh who seemed unembarrassed by his watery eyes. "I'll look after her, Hugh. Don't worry."

"Miss!" He managed, before his sombre gaze once more fell on his lovely Dottie.

"Jack!" Phryne said with a sad smile as she raised her hand to his.

The realisation that the time had come for this frustrating, glorious woman to leave him, hit him like a punch to the gut. "Phryne!" he managed. _Say something, say anything _his thoughts rushed at him as he reached for her offered hand and shook it. _What the hell are you doing man?_

Finally, when there was nothing left to be done but the leaving of it all, Phryne again ushered Dot in front of her and headed toward the door that would lead to Bert and Cec and their waiting cab, which in turn would take them the short distance to the harbour and to their journey into another hemisphere.

Phryne, feeling she still had a million and one things she wanted to say, stopped and turned suddenly to give voice to them, opening her mouth to speak, she found herself struck dumb. She saw Jack who looked at her expectantly, awaiting her parting shot. His hands pushed deep in his pockets, from the outline she could see they were clenched into fists. She noticed his jaw work, as if he too fought the same battle with his voice.

She didn't want to leave without this being said, she took the three strides necessary towards him, stopping mere inches from him. _Try again_, she told herself. She made another attempt at eloquence, her mouth opening and closing minutely but nothing came and so she kissed him instead. She hoped he understood.

Jack could feel the tips of her fingers splay across the shell of his ear, her palm warming his cheek as her lips pressed firmly against his own. He'd barely had a chance to react, to take his hands from his pockets and rest them gently at her waist, to feel the heat of her body through the layers of her clothes, to feel the slight pull on his lower lip from between her own only moments before she retreated. He felt her fingers caress down his cheek and away as the material of her coat slipped from his own fingers as she stepped back and away from him.

She was a whirl of French perfume, luxurious blue fabric and a wry smile as she turned on her heels and made quickly for the door. Finally finding her voice, she threw over her shoulder -

"You left without that the other evening."

Phryne Fisher had finally arrived as she made her way out of the door.


	5. Chapter 5: Atlas

**Chapter 5: Atlas**

When the decision was made, it felt like a window had been opened to a room he'd not realised he'd been suffocating in.

His decision to follow her across the world was a surprisingly easy one; considering he was a man who had been humbled by distance once before many years before and there being so many deciding factors involved in the leaving of it all. All things considered the determination that swept over him when he finally came to the conclusion the malaise that he was blanketed under at her absence and the worry he, and everyone connected with her, felt at this venture, was something he could not live with for the duration of her absence. He'd told her once that her loss was unbearable and he'd meant it. It was unbearable now.

He had been turning over in his mind the prospect of going after her for days before the decision was actually made. The conversations he'd had with Mac and her Aunt Prudence in the interim, had merely reaffirmed an inclination that had already taken root, though they alone were not the deciding factor in his decision. They were, however, enough to drive him insane with worry.

Jack had taken the opportunity to visit Mac at the women's hospital under the pretence of asking after one of its patients. The woman involved had injured herself on an ill thought out escape from the back of Bert and Cec's motorcar. The woman, having procured their services without the means to pay, had thrown herself out of the moving vehicle and run away limping. Neither of the cabbies had wanted the woman reported for the crime; they were of the mind that if she was willing to jump from the vehicle in a state of acceleration, then she was in need of the ride far more than they were in need of the fare. Regardless, Cec had insisted the woman looked to have been badly hurt in the fall and the local hospitals ought to be checked. Jack did not miss the roll of Bert's eyes at the conscientious request from his mate. Jack, finding himself with little else to do since the Sanderson case was removed from his workload only days earlier, grasped the opportunity to have something useful to do with both hands.

Mac saw straight through him of course. Her prefatory remark upon his arrival to the hospital only emphasised that fact.

"I haven't heard anything from her yet," she offered with a knowing smile on her face. Had he been prone to blushing he would have done it. She had the good grace to take pity on him though, and opened up the topic of conversation she knew he'd really come to discuss.

Mac had declared to Jack that she would have _liked_ – for want of a better word – to have gone with her friend but her work at the hospital had put paid to that notion and made it an impossibility. Besides, Phryne had also entrusted her friend with a favour, one she would not leave to anybody else. Mac had been asked to look in on Jane's Mother, Mrs Ross, to ensure her care and rehabilitation remained of the highest quality. What with Jane still on her trip around the continent, it had been Phryne who'd been visiting and keeping the young mother up to date with her daughter's adventures, sharing and comparing the letters and photographs they had each received from the girl.

A significant sum of money had been pressed into Mac's palm to pay the institution fees each week while she was away. For however long that might be.

Jack was once again taken aback by Phryne's propensity for generosity and her care for those around her. Though, he found it no longer surprised him in the least.

They walked the corridors together as Mac went about her business. Their conversation cut off and rejoined as she made her morning rounds.

"Have _you_ heard anything from her?" Mac asked finally, just as keen to know the progress of her friend.

"No, no news," he paced beside her, "but I suppose it's to be expected. They'll let us know as soon as they are able no doubt."

"I hope so." Mac said. Her features marked with worry, "She shouldn't have gone. I don't like it one bit."

Holding the swing door open for her, Jack took the opportunity to observe the doctor as she passed under his arm, she was rattled and this unnerved him.

"She'll be back before you know it." He reassured, as much for his own sake as for hers.

"I know – I just don't like the thought of her over there with him, especially with the question mark over his involvement."

Jack stopped abruptly. "What question mark? What are you saying?"

The unnerved feeling he couldn't previously place suddenly found its ground and began to spread roots.

"She didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"The police...they're investigating her mother's death. Her dad's a suspect."

Jack threw a pleading look to the impotent heavens, running an uneasy hand through his hair, "Why the hell didn't she tell me this before she left?"

Not sure she had the answer for him; or if his question was even directed at her, Mac could only give him her own opinion. "Honestly? I think she didn't want to worry you." Noticing his stressed state, she continued, "Sorry, I thought you knew. Listen, she told me that she believes he _didn't_ do it, and you know what Phryne's like," she touched Jack's arm to make sure she had his eyes, that he was listening to her before she continued, "she can sniff a lie from a mile off."

The knot in Jack's stomach alleviated only slightly with Macs words of reassurance. He agreed, Phryne did have a nose for a lie. She also had a facility of allaying people's fears and suspicions with falsehoods.

Mac's further declaration that Phryne's Father was '_One of life's characters_,' but _not_ a killer, had done little more to assuage the fears that were ignited by their previous conversation. This, married with the little knowledge he already had of the man, continued to prod at his disquiet.

He made his farewells to Mac after only the briefest of cursory enquiries after the health of the woman who was supposed to be the subject of his visit, Jack was informed, '_Yes, the woman was here. Yes, she would relay the news that no charges would be pressed. And yes she would be restored back to full health._' Cec would not forgive him if he came away without at least that.

He made his exit from the women's hospital without a clue as to how he should process the information he'd just acquired, or how he was supposed to settle the disquiet currently spreading like a well fed bushfire. He wished this new dilemma into physicality, something he could tackle, fight, or touch; anything but this ineffectual distant musing.

A visit from Prudence Stanley served to add another torturous layer to the heavy discontent creeping under Jack's skin.

An encounter with Mrs Stanley, though never what he would describe as a positive part of his day, he'd found he was surprisingly pleased to see her, such as it was his need for news, any news. It had been somewhat surprising, _and_ confronting that she would visit him at City South, a venture that would no doubt set tongues loose in some of the circles she kept.

Jack didn't think he'd ever seen the woman quite so drawn. She appeared ashen and she seemed uncharacteristically unsure of herself when she walked into the station not five days after Phryne's departure. Jack put this down to the shock over the death of her sister. Whether she knew the full circumstances of the death, Jack could not tell, perhaps Phryne had kept this information from her Aunt too; Jack wasn't about to ask.

Jack allowed the older woman the time as she went through the niceties that her breeding and polite society demanded of her but all at once, he noticed, when it came time for words society had not previously scripted for her, they seemed to stick in her throat.

After politely accepting the chair Jack had pulled out for her she began to speak. Her words were of her younger sister and Phryne and the similarities of mother and daughter, both _headstrong and without sensible reason, _she had said. Jack took her words as observations made out of grief and concern. They had not been said to be unkind, or as a slight but in a matter of fact way as seen through the older woman's eyes. Jack knew the fondness she felt for her niece. Beneath the animated exasperation she sometimes demonstrated, as demanded of her as a woman of her high social standing, there was genuine care and concern too.

He did not doubt that Mrs Stanley despaired at what must sometimes have felt like Phryne's rather antagonistic, progressive ideals and actions. Jack knew how easy, and perhaps expected, it would be for the older woman to cease contact and social interaction with her niece in order to keep her own name from being connected so readily to the all too easily misconceived misconduct and rumour associated with Phryne. However, she _had_ not and _would_ not do this. This alone spoke more volumes in regards to the care Mrs Stanley afforded her wayward niece. Far from keeping her at arm's length, it seemed as if Prudence Stanley was almost a permanent fixture in the Fisher household at times. _More's the pity, _he thought, somewhat uncharitably when he remembered back to a night not long ago.

"I have always tried my best to look after them, you must understand that." She'd said, cutting through his private thoughts. "Even when he made it as difficult as possible to do so."

"I understand." Jack replied solemnly, though he wasn't sure that he did at that moment in time, but she seemed to need the reassurance to continue.

"I gave them money in the beginning. Did you know that?" she asked, but gave no time for a response. "Then of course he found out and accused me of interfering; of judging him as an unfit provider for his family. Which of course I was, I won't deny it. The man was as unfit a parent as I have ever come across. Did you know that he tried to pull Phryne out of school when he realised I was paying the fees?"

Jack shook his head in the negative, finding no words to articulate his disbelief. He had not known this but was becoming less surprised by the minute at what the man seemed to be capable of. In Jack's line of work he understood the importance of listening to both sides of a story. Still, he was finding it very hard to come up with a legitimate excuse for such an action. He understood pride, but this –.

"I would have gone with her of course, if circumstances permitted. But with Arthur...well he doesn't travel well and Phryne has asked me to take in young Jane when she returns from the continent in the next few weeks."

She began to worry the handle of her handbag as it sat perched on her knee, thinking of how to broach what she needed to say. "I suppose you know of the circumstances she has been called into?" she did not or could not meet his eyes as she spoke, "That man will give rise to another scandal before his time is out, I am sure of it and Phryne...like her mother...she is too loyal for her own good."

Jack's question of whether Mrs Stanley knew of the possible involvement of Phryne's father had been answered. He felt a renewed sympathy for the old woman and simply nodded his understanding to her.

"I cannot tell you how many letters I've received over the years from my sister, Inspector. She has – _had_" she corrected herself with a deep sigh, "been of the mind to leave him on so many occasions. I could decorate my parlour walls with the letters she has written to that effect over the years. And yet she never returned to us. She was lost to us from the age of eighteen, Inspector. _He_," she spoke the word with some difficulty, "was twenty and should have known better." She paused, finally lifting her eyes to him to take in his reaction, "I don't know why I am telling you this, I've already said too much."

Jack did not know whether to be flattered or concerned at the information being shared. Nor why it was being shared; with _him_.

"I would have liked for her to have had an escort for the trip." She let the words hang in the air for him to decipher.

"Miss Williams has accompanied Phry – your niece, Mrs Stanley. She is not without a companion."

"Yes...well... I suppose that's all well and good." She said as she continued to twist the handle of her bag between her wringing hands until Jack could hear the creak of the leather. "I suppose Inspector I have taken enough of your time. I was merely of the mind to...well never mind." She rose from her seat and made for the door to his office, stopping as she lay her hand on the door knob.

"Of course, such a thing would be entirely improper," she turned to him suddenly, " an unmarried woman travelling with a man who is not her husband...I've never heard of such a thing...I only mean to say that...if you were to decide...you wouldn't strictly be travelling with her... and if you were without means to do so..."

Jack, from a very young age had always been mesmerized by the facility of women to ask for something under the guise of expressly _not _asking for it. His mother had been very good at this. '_Oh no, don't you worry yourself, I'll do it' _in turnhis father, if he knew what was good for him, would rise from his recumbent state with a sigh and do the very thing he had _not_ been asked to do. Jack got the distinct impression this was such an occasion.

"I simply want her to return home, Inspector. Safe and well – I think you and I are of the same mind."

With a deftness that belied her years, she slinked out of his office with no more ado leaving jack to elucidate what had just been asked of him – or not as the case may be.

In the end it was all decided by his hands.

In the few days after Mrs Stanley's visit, Jack had picked up a habit of nursing a drink until the early hours of the morning, picking apart the conjecture that steeped within his own mind and this night was no different. Jack sat in his living room with a medicinal glass of whiskey in his hand, a drink he felt he more than deserved after another long day of paper pushing had managed to exhaust all patience in his current predicament. He felt impotent; on general duties at work in practice if not in confirmed actuality by his superiors. And of course there was Phryne too. She'd been gone a week now and it seemed the further she travelled, the stronger the pull he felt for her. His helplessness at work was nothing compared to the malaise he felt over this whole sorry mess. No amount of mindless toil at work was enough to distract from the scenarios taking up residence and playing out in his thoughts to various ends.

As he tapped his index finger onto his whiskey glass along to an unplaced rhythm he looked at the large Atlas he had hanging on his living room wall, suddenly struck by a notion. Placing his tumbler down on the table beside him he stood from his armchair and walked over to the framed object, laying his hands upon the cool glass, he spread his hands across the surface of the earth; touching thumb to thumb, he spanned his fingers out as a shadow puppeteer might imitate a bird in flight. He manoeuvred his hands just so; his little fingers on each hand placed on the points of the earth the two of them would be if he did not follow her. He argued that if such a space could be measured in finger lengths alone, it really wasn't such a terrific distance. He also argued that with hands as large as his it really was too great a distance to have between himself and her. Logic like that simply could not be argued with.

With his hands still pressed against the glass; against the rivers, faults lines and oceans he would cross to be with her, he realised with a smile that was reflected back at him, that the heart lines she'd read on his palms all those months ago proved her right. He imagined her relish at winning that particular point.

He'd made such a journey before, fifteen years ago and he'd been humbled by the distance; he'd made it to fight someone else's war. He would make it again to find some semblance of peace.


	6. Chapter 6: Caught a Long Wind

_Thank you everyone for your patience and your lovely reviews and follows. They really do make my day._

**Chapter 6: Caught a long wind**

Phryne felt as if she could happily sleep standing up.

Taking into considering that she had made this same passage – albeit an elongated version of it, not yet two years ago, her memory had done her a disservice when it came to remembering the longevity of such a trip and the stretching of the days on a transglobal voyage. She supposed it probably had something to do with taking the first trip in reverse, and happily. This time – well, not so much.

Rather than stop the night in a hotel in Southampton, Phryne and Dot had made the joint decision to push on in the Hispano to complete their journey sooner rather than later. By this time Phryne thought she might develop a nervous tick if she did not get answers to the questions that had been allowed five weeks at sea to coalesce in her mind with no ear to hear them that could provide her with the answers she sought.

With the Hispano fully packed with their entire luggage – though surprisingly spare compared to Phryne's usual travelling standards – they lurched into gear and made the final hours of their journey towards the estate.

The drive was mercifully straightforward given the hour and was mostly completed in companionable silence, helped along by Dots frequent lapses into exhausted sleep, a '_Sorry Miss,' _escaping her lips when she awoke with a jerking start on several occasions despite Phryne's entreaties that it was perfectly alright if she took forty winks. It was well after midnight by this point after all, Phryne couldn't see her watch to be sure, but she reckoned they would arrive at the house by about two-thirty if her memory served her right.

Seeing Dottie sleep, Phryne wondered now about the logic of her decision to arrive at such an hour, surely it would have been better to sleep the night at a hotel and arrive during the day, rested and restored and ready to take on whatever conversation she needed to have with her father. Feeling her resolve waning, she opened her window an inch to let the cool night air into the carriage to wake herself up and to dissipate any further doubts about not getting this reunion over and done with. Pressing the acceleration pedal down, with renewed determination, she sped down the familiar country roads.

Phryne pulled through the towering wrought iron gates that led down the long driveway of the estate, thankfully left open by the staff; gently rousing Dot with a press to her shoulder as she made the turning.

"Oh Miss!" Phryne heard her companion speak on a whisper. The scene did inspire hushed tones.

Looking briefly over to her passenger, she saw Dot, mesmerised with her mouth almost agape. Although dark, the night shone with a heavy thumb print moon, its light painting a silvery veneer on all it touched. There was no hiding the sheer scale and opulence of the place, even Phryne could not deny the scene held a certain beautiful majesty; like the landscape had been immersed in a precious element afforded to it by the moon.

They drove the long chalky pathway until Phryne pulled the car into a wide circle, until finally the house was in sight. The frenetic, sweeping headlights from the motorcar journeyed and played along the elegant symmetry of the front of the house, jumping along the alcoves and crevices of the pale stonework like luminous ghosts in a hurry. Phryne tried not to dwell too much into that little observation.

No sooner had Phryne switched off the engine to the motorcar than a square block of light tumbled down the stone steps leading up to the entrance of the house, its doors thrown open in haste.

Paying no mind to the hour or the chill of the night air, Phryne saw the woman she knew instinctively would be the first to greet her.

The silver haired woman moved more briskly than she ought for a woman her age and stature, with her arms poised and open wide ready to encircle the new arrival into her embrace.

"Phryne, love!" she beamed as she threw her arms around her, holding her tightly to her plump body for long moments as the pair rocked on their heels in their embrace. "Joe said you'd be here tonight. He said _'Our Phryne'll not stop over, she'll be here the night of the dockin,' _and here you are."

Finally relinquishing her tight hold on the precious new arrival she stepped back slightly to survey Phryne, taking her face in her hands.

"Oh, love – you just get prettier every time I see you." The older woman proclaimed with a soft smile as she cupped Phryne's face. "But you look absolutely done in. Come on, let's get you indoors and into bed the both of you." She said, her brow furrowing in concern. She hastened a glance over to Dot, finally noticing Phryne's companion and giving her a friendly smile and a salutary '_hello, love'._

"Bess, it's so good to see you!" Phryne slung her arm over the shorter woman's shoulders. "This is Dot Williams, my companion." Phryne said, linking her free arm through Dots. "Dot this is Bess Featherstone, the woman who almost single handed is responsible for this house running like a well oiled machine – And Joe of course." She added, looking down at Bess with a smile.

"Oh Joe'll be right pleased to see you." Bess said as she curled her arm around Phryne's middle and guided her up the steps. "You'll have passed him; he's in the gate house tonight on account of him being so sure you'd be arriving tonight. Made sure the gates were left open for you he did. He telephoned the main house when he saw your headlights a way off saying _'I told you, I told you.'_ He sounded like a man delirious." She beamed at Phryne and gave her middle a squeeze that would have had the effect of toppling Phryne over if it weren't for the sturdy supporting weight at her side.

Entering the wide door into the great parlour of the house, Phryne's senses were assaulted by the familiarity of the space. It still smelled of the polish Bess took great pains to use to keep the floor to ceiling wood panelled walls looking '_good as new'_. No easy task considering they were erected nearly two hundred year previously. The floor too was obviously still being treated by the lemony concoction she made up in the kitchen for the house staff to use. The black and white marble chess board floor sparkled in the crisp light thrown out by the thousands of refracted reflections from the large crystal chandelier at the centre of the tall corniced ceiling.

It didn't smell like cigars though.

She could always tell where her father had been recently by the scent of the expensive cigars he'd taken to smoking since becoming an '_English Gent_.' He was obviously not waiting up for her arrival as Bess and Joe had obviously done. She wasn't surprised. She was surprised however, by the relief that swept over her, she released a long shuddering breath of pent up nerves. All this time and she still wasn't ready.

But first things first she thought –

"You can use the telephone, Dot." Phryne made a quick check to see that it was still in the same place – over by her great-great uncle Sebastian, where he hung in all his bewigged splendour on the wall, the large painting of his likeness easily stood at ten feet or more, his imperious gaze assaying all who deigned to enter. Phryne pointed Dot in the right direction.

"It'll be..." Phryne checked her watch for the time and quickly made the calculation, " – about noon in Melbourne, Hugh will probably be on his lunch break soon."

Phryne understood how much her maid had missed her beau through the trip thus far and was keen to be able to allow her the opportunity to speak with him finally; she also knew Hugh would be beyond relieved too at the prospect of speaking with his, Dottie and to know she had arrived safely at their destination. It was also a ruse of course, if Dot called Hugh, she could use it as an excuse to be passed over to speak with Jack for a few minutes. She was itching to hear his voice.

Dot however, was taking the opportunity to absorb her surroundings. The chandelier, although beautiful, was not sufficient to the daunting task of fully illuminating the expanse of the entrance hall in the dark of night, leaving parts of its far corners in almost shadow, but what she could see made her long for the daylight hours to be given the opportunity to see the place in all its glory. Since meeting Miss Fisher she had been invited into some thoroughly splendid homes, but this – this was something else entirely. She was almost certain she had never seen such a grand marble fire place in an entrance parlour before, yet here were two on opposite sides of each other.

Seeing her companion turning on the spot in the middle of chequered the floor, craning her neck in every direction like a curious pawn on a giant chess board, Phryne took her gently by the elbow and ushered Dot across the room. She was keen to get the call connected.

Dot allowed herself to be escorted in the direction of the telephone which she saw placed on an ornately carved wooden table underneath a rather intimidating looking man whose eyes seemed to follow her across the room. Her mistress must have noticed her gaze as she felt it necessary to allay any concern.

"Oh don't mind Great Uncle Seb. Face like a wet weekend but by historic accounts he was really rather a nice chap."

The telephone receiver being thrust into her hand broke her from her preoccupied contemplation of the man.

"I've entered the call. It's being connected." Phryne said eagerly. "Before you finish, I might also speak with Jack afterwards." She ventured in her most nonchalant voice but saw she was fooling no one when Dot tempered a knowing smile.

Dot felt her heart hammering inside her chest as she listened to the telephone ring in her ear and felt it burst and spread a warm flood when she heard his faraway voice answer in his professional manner on the end of the line.

"Hugh!"

"Dottie?"

Phryne couldn't help but smile as her companion clutched onto the telephone receiver with both hands, twisting in nervous anticipation with what Phryne perceived the be the biggest smile she had ever seen on the young woman's face. She stepped back a few paces to allow Dot her privacy.

Stepping backwards, her progress was halted when her back hit a soft, though immovable object. Spinning on her heels with an apology on her lips she was lifted from the floor into what could only be described as a bear hug.

Joe, though of the same short stature as his wife, had always possessed a strength that belied said stature and his years.

"Well! Look who's caught a long wind and sailed back home." The old man spoke over her shoulder before releasing her to the ground once more, placing his work hardened hands upon her shoulders as he held her at arm's length in much the same way as his wife a few minutes previously. He exhaled a happy sigh. "Ain't she a beaut, Bess? Prettier every day!" He said to his observing wife.

"Hello Joe, waddya know?" Phryne spoke her customary welcome as Joe's weather worn face beamed a smile at her.

"All the better for seeing you, ducky buds!" Phryne was never sure just how she had come to get that particular pet name from the old man but she had honestly missed hearing it.

"Well don't just stand there gawping at her, Joe. Bring their things in."

With a mock salute and a squeeze to her shoulder, Joe made out the door at his wife's good natured command.

Phryne turned to Bess after casting a brief eye towards Dot who was still speaking in hushed tones to Hugh. "Where is he, Bess?" She said quietly, taking care not to give too much away in her tone. Phryne saw the initial jubilance of her arrival drain from the woman's face and for a moment Phryne felt a cold creeping fear crawl its way under her skin. Oh God, was he being held somewhere? Had he been charged? She hadn't allowed that particular thought to take up any space in her mind before now.

Bess, seemingly reading her mind, quickly spoke up, "We haven't seen him for a couple of days now, love." She said reaching for Phryne's hand. "He's taken your mothers passing very hard. He takes himself off someplace for a while, the pubs mostly." She stroked Phryne's knuckles. Knowing she would get no reprimand for speaking out of turn with Phryne, she continued. "Joe used to go and fetch him back – but now we tend to leave him be. Seems to do him good to get out of the house for a bit – whatever good can come from drowning his sorrows anyhow."

Phryne was too tired to be as angry as she knew she ought to be. The unexpected relief at being given a reprieve had diluted the indignant injustice of having travelled across the world for a father who couldn't stagger home from the pub to meet her. Also having an instilled knowledge of her father had made this very situation one of tiresome predictability. Really, what had she expected?

"He'll be along. He's never away for very long." Bess gave Phryne's hand a squeeze as Joe made his way through the door with a loud clatter as he released the baggage he'd stowed under his arms as his hands were occupied with the larger cases.

"Sorry!" he bellowed before his wife had a chance to utter the caution ready on her lips. Bess released Phryne's hand with a shake of her head and eyes rolled to the ceiling. "I do hope you've nothing of breakable value in there." She said as she followed her husband out of the door no doubt to organise him in the retrieval of the luggage in a more cautious fashion.

"Miss." Dot called Phryne over with a waft of her hand as she held aloft the handset of the telephone to her Mistress. "It's Hugh." She stated before stepping away slightly with a cursory sideways glance at great uncle Seb.

"Hugh, darling! How are you?" She waited for the young man's jubilant reply, the happiness in his voice so pronounced; Phryne heard it as clear as a bell. "Good, good," she replied, "Listen, I wonder if I might have a quick chat with the inspector?"

The young man so happy mere moments ago seemed to fluster at the other end of the line. She really must have embarrassed him with her parting scene with his superior all those weeks ago.

"Ah...hmm...do you mean Inspector Robinson?" He played for time.

"Yes, Hugh I _do _mean Inspector Robinson." Honestly, she loved the boy but she couldn't quite hold onto the roll of her eyes.

"Well...Miss...Uhh," she heard him expel a nervous breath before finally finding his words. "He's not here Miss Fisher."

"Oh...oh he isn't? When will you be expecting him back?" Phryne glanced at her watch to see if she could time the next call she would have to make a little better in order to catch Jack at work. Her brow furrowed though, as she listened to a flustered Hugh on the other end of the line.

"Uh...Um...He's not...For a while...at least." He managed to stumble out.

"Hugh?" She hadn't heard him this worked up since she'd handed him the book of _Erotica of the Far East. _

"Uh...I'm sorry Miss, I'm not to say, Miss... Sorry." The instructions from his boss had been most clear. He was not to divulge his journey to _anyone_.

She heard the awkward agitation in his voice. "Oh..._OH," Realisation_ suddenly dawning, she released her disappointment in a deflated exhale, her brain finally catching up with her. What else could it be? He was obviously with Rosie. She didn't need poor Hugh to spell it out any clearer.

"No, of course, Hugh," she shook her head, "Of course that's fine, I just thought I'd check in. Not to worry." _Stop talking, stop talking. _"I merely wanted to announce our safe arrival and I've done that so if you could just relay the message if you'd be so kind?" She heard another trip of words fall through the receiver but gave them no mind or time to be completed. "I'll make sure Dot has the opportunity to call you often." was all she could think to say to end the call and to mask the sudden wave of foolishness she felt.

She should have been prepared for this; they'd spoken of it on the day of their parting for heaven sake. She knew he was going to support Rosie, she'd encouraged it even. She didn't know what she had to be disappointed about, they were friends after all and hopefully would remain so. So why did she feel the overwhelming fear that she'd lost him, he wasn't even hers to lose.

"Miss," Dot touched her arm gently, "is everything alright?"

"Yes Dot," she smiled all too convincingly, "everything is just fine. Come on, let's get ourselves settled in." Linking arms with her companion, they made their way through the labyrinth of rooms.

All the while Phryne was unable to shake the sharp stab of injustice. The two men she needed to speak with most in the world, though for very different reasons, and she had been deprived of them both.


	7. Chapter 7: An Inspector Calls

**Chapter 7: An Inspector Calls**

Phryne awoke with a fitful start; she'd dreamt her bed unstable under the disorienting motion of rolling waves, she clung to the bed linen to stop herself from falling into the imagined water lapping perilously close to her mattress. In her half conscious state of mind she'd forgotten where she was and why she was there. As she slowly came around to her surroundings, her body eased in its simulated, to and fro sway of the vessel she and Dot had disembarked from late the previous evening.

From her bed, Phryne looked out on the day outside her window, (She surmised that Dot must have been in already to open her curtains, though she could not remember) the sun was already high in an azure sky. Stretching, she resolved to get out of bed now or risk falling back to sleep only to wake again much later and find herself in the dark again. In every sense of the word.

Tapping on the door that adjoined her bedroom to Dot's room, she entered, her young companion was nowhere to be found but her bed neatly made and her night clothes neatly folded upon her pillow. Phryne smiled, she should have known Dot wouldn't let a little thing like travelling around the world stop her from being up with the birds like the good catholic she was. She only hoped the dear thing hadn't gotten herself lost somewhere amongst the maze of rooms and corridors. She'd have to dress and make sure she was alright.

The house was silent but for the tread of her feet as Phryne made her way down the wide, sunlit halls; her pace brisk as she passed unknown but familiar ancestors from their place on the walls. The halls themselves were like galleries, designed to show off the household's considerable wealth with its accumulated oils, antiques and china from distant shores.

Her step slowed when she came to be outside the familiar hallway that lead on to her mother's boudoir. She paused for a moment, seemingly in two minds. Resolutely, she made her decision to enter; she would have to do this sometime, why not now. Placing her hand on the door knob, she took a deep breath before entering.

The room was shrouded in darkness, the curtains drawn as was tradition she supposed, but it lent the room a dullness that Phryne could not reconcile with the memories she had of her mother's still untouched room. She remembered it so well from the times the two of them would sit atop her mother's bed and talk before retiring for the evening.

Phryne had taken to conducting much of her own life here in England as much out of sight of both her parents as possible, but she could not deny her mother's entreaties to be allowed the occasional bedtime chats; where somewhat diluted stories of her days adventures had been shared. Phryne wasn't fool enough to believe they we always purely for the pleasure of her company, but also as a deterrent to her husband who was still wont to declare an interest in a visit to his wife's room of an evening, despite the separate bedrooms insisted on by his wife after a particularly humiliating and indiscrete liaison with one of his conquests.

Phryne, unable to stand the room in its gloom any longer, drew the curtains back in one fluid motion, allowing the light to shine on the familiar yellow rose adorned wallpaper, flowers needed the sun, she reasoned. Disturbed dust motes floated in the shards of light as they pierced through the room. _Hang tradition, _Phryne thought, securing the curtain material aside.

Phryne looked out of her mother's window at the view. The large circular fountain below took centre stage. Her father had ordered it made as a grovelling apology of sorts to his long suffering wife; knowing how she loved the water, it was one of his more thoughtful gestures. Phryne thought it looked glorious in the sun today as the breeze caught the ascending spray and turned the droplets to rainbow as they drifted through the air, its colours seemingly bleeding into the stained glass window of the small church just visible beyond the climbing evergreens at the end of the sculptured garden. Her mother loved the water and so forgave him. She always forgave him.

Looking out of the window, Phryne understood why her mother had chosen this room as her sanctuary. Though it would be considered rather a small space given the proportions of the rest of house, it was the view that had drawn her mother here, she was sure of it. The scene framed by the windows was inclusive of two of the things that meant so much to her mother. The water; with which she had always shared an affinity. And the church, which she had taken to with a repentant fervour since Janey's disappearance.

Turning back to the room with a sense that something didn't quite feel right, realising what it was, Phryne looked to the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, its pendulum had been stilled, its dull comforting tick-tock as it marked time had been silenced. Its face now ever to read thirty minutes past the hour of twelve; the same time, she imagined, that the curtains had been drawn closed to her mother's most personal space.

Phryne circled the room and ran her palms across the familiar surfaces; she traced with her fingertips the strange figure eight pattern that bled from the dark knot of wood on surface of her mother's vanity and saw that her trinkets, powders and perfumes still stood as she imagined they did the last time they had been used. Phryne held one of the scents to her nose and felt tears prick at her eyes as it flooded her senses and threatened to overwhelm her. The subtle, floral and powdery scent was a favourite of hers and ever since they had had the money to spend on such luxuries it was the perfume that her mother has chosen as her own.

Phryne placed the perfume back to the surface and moved on swiftly away. She hardly knew how she felt but she knew that she did not want to feel like this now, there was still so much to be done.

Pacing to the door to leave, Phryne's eye was drawn to her mother's escritoire, usually kept fastidiously tidy; Phryne noticed that the surface looked unusually cluttered with her mother's writing paraphernalia, not enough to be out of place in her own home or anyone else's for that matter, but for her mother's taste, certainly. Phryne felt the urge to tidy it for her, to have it be more to her mother's liking and so Phryne set about fixing the items to perpendicular perfection.

Finishing the task at hand, Phryne placed her mother's favoured ball point pen, ('_a revelation darling, no more unsightly inky fingers one gets from a fountain pen_') across her pad of water marked paper. Running her fingers over the paper, Phryne felt the slight indentation of her mother's elegant cursive hand upon the page. Her chest constricted almost painfully as she remembered that she hadn't replied to the last letter she'd received from her mother. Knowing that even if she'd answered in a more timely fashion, the letter would still not have been received in time for the intended recipient to read, only served to make the realisation somehow more upsetting.

In amongst her mother's things, Phryne felt suddenly surrounded, submerged and drenched in an almost tactile presence and a sadness that had only really been allowed to reach her surface with the close proximity of the soul of the woman she found in this room but who had ultimately been lost to her. A sometimes complicated, but still evolving relationship, cut short and never to be continued through the fragile give and take of both parties. Phryne would now never know for certain if the absolution she sought from her mother over the loss of Janey was acquired, it wasn't something they ever spoke of and it was something Phryne, with all her outwardly perceived courage and internal atonement had always been fearful of asking, too scared to get the response she expected, the response she would give herself. No.

Phryne did not want to find herself amongst such torturous thoughts right now. She still did not know how or why her mother had died and until she knew this, Phryne did not know how she should mourn the loss she was still so unaccustomed to. She needed to busy her mind elsewhere and the grief, she hoped, would take care of itself. That was the idea anyway as she made one more pass of her fingers across her mother's tidied writing paper, her words like Braille under her fingertips as she made a backwards glance over her shoulder at the newly illuminated room before closing the door behind her.

Tearing her thoughts away from the maudlin was not easy as she made her way through the marble front hall she knew to be the place, weeks before, her mother had been found, her slight body at the mercy of the unyielding marble surface. Phryne tried not to think of her mother's final moments, the split seconds of panic in her fall, she would have clawed at the air to find purchase and found none. Phryne closed her eyes tight and once more felt herself adrift in anger at her father's disappearance. How bloody dare he not be here?

Breaking her gaze away from the scene she supposed to be of her mother death, Phryne started in the direction of the place she knew she would find somebody to talk to, somebody who would not allow her to remain in the dark. She began for the kitchen; Bess would be there.

She was startled on her way by a loud boisterous knocking at the door; a familiar sound from years of having to lock the drunken idiot out. It could only be one person. She pulled the heavy door open with purpose, about to tear into her father with five weeks worth of vitriol exacerbated by the anger and upset that had crept under her skin over the last few hours.

"Where the bloody hell..." Phryne stopped suddenly, it was not her father.

A tall, solid looking man stood with a harsh face, the flat of his hand still raised in the air in preparation to land another blow to the thick oak door. His hard features morphed quickly when his assaying eyes fell on Phryne. Both parties, it seemed, had not been expecting the other.

"Who are you?" The man said, in a somewhat surprised tone of voice.

"I think the more pertinent question as the person on the other side of the door, is, who are you?" She answered forcefully. It may not have been her father standing there but Phryne, at this moment in time, wasn't too fussy about who received her wrath, and besides, who did he think he was hammering at the door like that.

"Forgive me!" The stranger said, removing his hat from his head and holding it to his chest as if to further press his apology, revealing a full head of dark hair, peppered at the temples with grey. "Where are my manners?" He continued congenially enough. "I'm Inspector Donoghue. I wonder if I might speak to the master of the house." He requested with a polite smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. "He's not avoiding me is he?" He added as his eyes made a quick sweep of the space beyond her. Phryne was thrown, what had he meant by that?

"He isn't here, Inspector... Donoghue is it?" she said as authoritatively as possible, "By all accounts he's been gone for the last couple of days, but if his habits are to be observed he should be returning shortly." She tried not to give anything away but she couldn't deny her worried curiosity any longer, "What do you need to speak with him about? Is he in trouble?" She added, as airily as she could manage.

She was being scrutinized she noticed. Jack had the same way about him when he was trying to decipher whether someone was telling him the truth or not. Only Jack, she knew, would always allow the benefit of innocence before guilt and she got the distinct impression that this, Inspector Donoghue, was not of the same vein.

"No," He finally answered after too long a beat, "We have an arrangement, he and I, we were to go over some of the finer details in the closure of the case but I'm afraid he has been rather a difficult man to pin down this last week." Again she noticed his gaze upon her, it was nothing she wasn't used to; men had looked at her that way since she was a fifteen years old.

"By case, you mean the death of my mother?" She asked and heard her breath catch, fearful of the reply she would receive. If her father was innocent as he proclaimed to be, why were the police here now?

"Your mother!" He answered, surprised. "Oh I hope I haven't spoken out of turn. I really am very sorry for your loss. Its Janey isn't it?" He placed his hat back on his head and offered his hand, "Your father has spoken fondly of you to me." And with that, the man's countenance changed. When he allowed the harsh furrow of his brow to ease, he really was rather a handsome man. Phryne guessed him to be around fifty years of age. His expensive looking suit fit him well over his broad shoulders.

"It's Phryne; Janey is the name of my sister." He had the good manners to look apologetic as she took his hand briefly in hers. From under the shadow of his hat, Phryne couldn't quite tell the colour of his dark eyes.

"Phryne – of course. Yes. He has spoken of you too, I must have misremembered. We've had a lot to discuss, he and I over the weeks, what with your mother's case and all. Suicide, I am afraid can be an untidy affair to wrap up."

"What? Suicide?" Phryne's mind went reeling, of all the possibilities, she had not imagined this one. She had given time to the fact that her father might be a killer, but not this. Knowing her mother's religious beliefs and how the church saw such an act as a mortal sin, Phryne couldn't quite fathom how her mother could have done such a thing.

She shook her head in disbelief, "No, it's not possible." She said the words to herself but was startled to receive and reply, momentarily forgetting she had company.

"I'm afraid so, Miss," He said in a matter of fact way, "Listen, I'd be happy to fill you in with the case." He offered almost brightly.

"No." She said it so abruptly, she noticed a hint of shock on his face. "No, thank you. I think I need to hear this from him." She didn't, she just didn't want this perfect stranger dissecting her mother's death for her like he was reading out the cricket scores.

"That's probably best," he conceded, "Tell him I dropped by, would you and tell him the sooner we get this wrapped up, the better for all concerned." With a pull to the front of his hat and a slight nod, he turned to go.

Phryne was alone in the hallway once more; she stood numbed by revelations and thoughts of the troubled soul of her mother at the foot of the stairs.


End file.
